He said to meet her under the red tree, the one closest to the water. She understood which one he meant; she knew the park so well. It's where she went to let go of the day. She could wander it for hours.
He was older, at least that’s what he had written in his profile. Why would he lie about being older? No picture posted, just like her. They both enjoyed their anonymity.
They shared a love for bourbon and theater. The way he wrote enchanted her. Not many details about their personal lives, just talk about their hobbies and what they wanted for the future.
They had both saved enough to travel and made a list together of all of the places they never made time to go while raising families; The Great Wall, Kilimanjaro, the Darjeeling tea fields. She basked in her imaginary trips with him.
He sounded lonely, just looking for some company, because he made the time and effort to daydream with her.
Why not, she thought? What was there to lose? She was lonely too.
A young boy, maybe 3, came up to her on the bench. He handed her his yellow balloon.
“How nice, thank you,” she said. His frazzled mother pushed a stroller, struggling to catch up to him. The mother shrugged as the boy trotted away, on to his next adventure. Erica smiled at her and hung on to the balloon. She remembered how overwhelming it felt to juggle it all when the boys were that age. Now she missed that time.
He was only ten minutes late. She checked her phone. The email said 5, right? It wouldn’t be dark for another hour or so.
She watched a pack of joggers run by, she should start up again. The excuses had piled up over the years (it was too cold out, too hot, too dark,) and she knew she’d be frustrated with her performance at first. It would take a few months to get back to the five miles a day she was able to log in her thirties. The thought of starting over again to get to a place she’d already been, exhausted her.
She wondered if she should text him and let him know that she was the one holding the yellow balloon. But thought better of it. It was half past now, 30 minutes late and no call or message.
Five more minutes she thought to herself. She got up and walked down to the water, it was still clear enough to see to the bottom. A chilling wind wound up around her. She inhaled deeply, refreshed and energized at doing something like this, so out of character.
“Erica?” She spun around at the familiarity of the deep, warm voice. Her husband looked her in the eyes for the first time in a long time.
“Michael?” She was confused. How did he know? Why was he here? Then she realized that this was him, her Mr. Anonymous. It had been him all along.
They sat down on a nearby bench and caught up on all the things they had neglected.